


Toll

by hellkitty



Category: Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For rounds-of-kink, prompts were 'serpentine' which I took literally bc my brain is concrete and 'animalistic behavior' because xeno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toll

“Furya,” the nagina’s voice hid the surprise well. “And just what would you want with Furya?”

Riddick tilted his head, marginally, as the long creature circled him, her scaled belly whispering along the floor. She was trying to rile him, especially the way she stopped, just behind him, and he could feel the air move, as she flicked her tongue against his shoulder. “More like what Furya wants with me.”  Shirah, and the visions. They wouldn’t leave him alone, and unlike any merc team, he couldn’t outrun her. 

When you can’t outrun, you have no choice but to stand and fight.

“I see,” she said, circling forward again.  Naginas prided themselves on knowing things. Rumor had it they were psychic, could tap into some sort of neural network, like the Necromongers’ quasi deads, all talking to each other, one great big snakeball party. 

“Wasting my time,” he said, impatient. If she had nothing, he needed to move on.  There was always someone somewhere wanting a piece of him, and the longer he stayed still the closer they got.

“Not wasting,” she said, lowering her head, slit-pupiled eyes meeting his, gold and alien. “Merely calculating.”

“You sound like an elemental.” He didn’t mean it as a compliment. She didn’t take it as one, the rattle of her tail twitching in warning.  

“How much would you give, Riddick,” she said, head tilting, coyly, “for information.”

He gave a cold smile. “Left my wallet in my other pants.” 

“Money.” She scoffed. “I was thinking something a bit more…personal.” There was a sibilance in her voice, her gaze traveling down his body, openly.

Really. “Been a while,” Riddick said, calmly. “Not sure you can keep up.”

“Oh?” The nagina’s hood flared, the room’s dim light catching in the iridescence of the scales. He could smell her, this close, sweet and dangerous, like meat about to go bad.  She reached a hand out, long, tapered fingers, almost like talons, catching the strap of his shirt. She caught his eyes, hooking her thumb like a blade, slitting the fabric as easily as air.  “I wouldn’t be concerned. On _my_ behalf.”

They both moved, then, neither having advantage for a long, struggling moment, going to ground as her tail snarled his legs, the bulbous end snaking up to his groin. He pushed it away, and she took advantage, shoving his shoulder to the ground, piling her coiled mass on top of him, the hand releasing only to draw a trebled line of blood-drawing claws down his chest. He hissed into the pain, bucking his weight up.

“Come now, Riddick,” she breathed, arching over him, over the heavy coils of her own serpentine tail, “is this truly so onerous for you?”

“Maybe,” Riddick said, silver of his eyeshine catching her gold, “it’s how I like it.” Close enough to the truth: he could feel the heat rise in him, a hard, insistent pressure low in his belly. 

“Good,” the nagina said, a smile quirking her split-philtrumed mouth, the clawing hand sliding cool talons down his belly, catching at the waist of his jeans. 

He gathered himself, one boot finding ground, before posting up onto it, pitching his weight hard to one side, her weight scrambling clumsily off him.  He rolled to his feet, launching himself at her,  switching lead, until he straddled the heaviest center of her body.  “I like these pants,” he said, before bending low, eyes closing as he took in the scent of her, the off-meat smell tinged with arousal and the cool tang of fear. Arousing, intoxicating, and his own hands tore at the belt, the buttons on the worn leather of his pants, releasing his erection to the cold air. 

She looked down between their bodies, giving a hiss of her own, body twisting sinuously underneath him, baring a part of her belly, where the scales split. He could smell something like musk, spicy and dark, like vetiver. He felt the growl vibrate in his chest, long before he heard it, the vibration flaring through him, circling around his groin, swelling at his cock to the point of pain.

Didn’t matter. He liked the pain. Liked it even more when he reared back, plunging himself into her, feeling the cool slickness slide around his member, pressing close.  He was hot enough for the both of them, almost febrile, the lust he’d been repressing for years, since Johns got him, since before Helion Prime, bursting over him, as hot and dangerous as kerosene.  He could feel it batter against him, like the heat peeling off a wildfire, as he drove himself into the nagina, hands bruising at her arms, mouth finding the hard projections of her nipples, teeth grazing over them.  It was a triumph to hear her cry out, to feel those nails claw at his back, to draw lines of blood in a frantic calligraphy, to hear that aloof superiority she affected shatter and crash. 

Because she wanted it, too. Not just as some exchange, not just as a fee, a transaction, but this, the raw animal pleasure, rutting and dark and selfish, chased by some imperative deeper than will, deeper than want.  He could feel her body, coils around him, pulling him tight, surging into his thrusts, the shaft he thrust into squeezing against him in urgent, rhythmic waves.

She gave a cry, one torn from deep in her belly, long body squeezing around him, shuddering as he spilled himself into her, heat into her coldness, feral into her fine manners. The nail marks on his back burned like cold fire, etching acid, that whipped together with the heat of his own orgasm, the last hard thrusts into her, feeling the spurt and twitch of their bodies.

His breathing settled, the slow, steady respiration of a predator, the heat flickering to the distant edges of his awareness.  “Had enough,” he said, the smirk audible in his voice, giving a slow rock to his hips. Her coils encircled him, waist and hip and legs, the tail tip squirming under his crotch.

The nagina gave a husky laugh, the backs of her nails cool on the raised welts she’d raised earlier. “Oh, Furyan,” she said, her voice rich with pity, and he thought of the rumors, the nagina links and wondered who else was getting off. “my kind mates for hours.”

“Good,” he said, giving another hard buck into her. “Maybe you will be able to keep up.”


End file.
